


Push Over

by ChocolateChipFic (Leigh_B)



Series: Momvellan and Papa!Franken!Solas [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Baby Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, I couldn't decide forever, My roommates literally are so done with me and my naming process, Sweet, The baby is finally named., all of the fluff, family stuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7512505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leigh_B/pseuds/ChocolateChipFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bedtime. Not cake time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).



> Another addition to my Momvellan series~ Huzzah!

Her weight leans against the padded headboard of their daughter’s extravagant canopy bedframe. The mattress is far larger than any person, much less a child, should possibly need. It is also the texture of a down-filled cloud, and extremely inviting. Everything on the bed is wreathed in cream colored fabrics and cushions. Pearlescent curtains drape over the structure of the frame in elegant twists and swoops. The rest of their daughter’s room is a landscape of art supplies, heavily-laden wooden bookshelves, and the occasional neglected toy.

There are fewer magical accouterments in this room than any other in the palace. Halani is unsure why Solas felt the need to hide the maintenance charms and ambient glyphs beneath cloaking spells. The sole purpose of the additional runes in this room is the encouragement of relaxation and peace of mind. Halani assumes it has something to do with their daughter’s being from a reality in which magic is less potent, less insistent that its presence be seen and felt. Isa is currently curled around her, darling little head full of ringlets tucked against Halani’s chest.

“She’s already cleaned her teeth, my love.” Halani’s irritation is tucked away so that neither the man nor the hopeful child feels the sting of it.

Solas is quiet as he sets shortbreads and small cakes out over the table in the far corner of their daughter’s room. The scene is reflected in the large windows adjacent to the table, and Halani can see the whole of his facial expression. Solas is unmoved by her statement.

“She can clean her teeth again.” His attention focuses on Isa. “Can’t you?”

“Yes, Papa!” She smiles wide, glancing up to Halani with the sweetest look of pleading. “Just a few, Mamae. Then I’ll brush and go right to bed.”

Halani frowns. Frowns at her daughter. Frowns at her child’s father. Frowns at the sprawling portrait of a griffin soaring across her daughter’s ceiling. She frowns so deeply, in fact, she feels as if the weight of it is tugging her ears down. She concentrates on the rustling feathers of the rendered griffin, one ostentatious enchantment that delights her daughter to no end, and uses it as a distraction to restrain her unruly mood.

“I brought up some of that drink of which you are so fond,” Solas tempts in a mild tone. Her frown lessens as her mouth waters. “The one that is made with mint and cream-”

“I know the one,” she grouses, pegging his back with a look of betrayal.

His reflection grins at the scowl she casts in the window pane. He knows he’s won. Again.

Isa burrows against her chest, squeezing her arms tight around her mother’s middle. “Please, Mamae?”

The girl has not looked up to see the bittersweet defeat on her mother’s features. Halani feels something in her mind draw a deep draught of the moment around her. There is a softness to her temples, and an odd cloudy feeling about her head.

Halani knows that she will remember every minuscule detail of this scene. She does not know why. There is nothing particularly special about this night. There have been many others that were extremely similar to it. Even so, years from now, Halani can feel that she will be able to recall the give of the mattress beneath her, the smell of her daughter’s hair, and the sparks of irritation pricking her spine as Solas grins from the corner and Isa’s sharp little thumbnail digs a stitch into her back. Beneath the heat spurred by the small aggravations, there is a well of affection.

She is so happy.   


End file.
